


Number 17

by duesternis



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Male Characters, Drinking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Speed Dating, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29204319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duesternis/pseuds/duesternis
Summary: Graham turned from the bar into the room and found the little place card with the swirly 17 on it.The guy with the pint was the 15 and took the table next to Graham with a brisk “Hello”.Graham smiled, took his seat and extended his hand for a proper hello.“Graham Gore,” he said.The pint guy blinked at Graham’s hand and laughed nervously.“You’re supposed to say hello to the ladies.”“No ladies yet, might as well say hello to you.”“John Morfin,” said pint guy and shook Graham’s hand with a grin. His grip was warm and firm and his eyes a delightful grey.
Relationships: John Morfin/Graham Gore
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	Number 17

**Author's Note:**

  * For [steelythen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelythen/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRAHAM
> 
> welcome to a prelude for rare pair week

“You need to get back out there”, they had said.  
“It’s been so long since you went out with anyone,” they had said.

And Graham, like a fool, had believed them when they’d said that speed dating might be exactly what he needed to get back into it all.  
He wasn’t quite sure what ‘it all’ was supposed to be, but JW and Henry were more up to date on all the dating business to begin with.  
And James had also readily agreed that it was a fun idea to get Graham ‘back on the market’.

So it came to be that Graham Gore stood in front of the Lobster bar on a friday evening, wearing his best jeans and blazer over a simple button down, smoking a cigarette to alleviate his nerves.  
There were already people inside, dressed prettily, talking to each other while they cradled their complimentary drinks.  
The longer he stood there the more he was convinced that he was not ready to ‘get back on the market’.  
So he inhaled a last lungful of smoke and nodded to himself.  
Graham tossed his cigarette butt into the gutter and walked into the bar.  
Into the warmth and noise.

“Hi,” greeted a hostess with a chipper voice right behind the door.  
“Hi, Graham Gore, I should be on the list?”  
“Of course, let me check, Mr Gore.” She smiled, looked down at her list and immediately up again.  
“There you are. Your number is the 17, mind if I pin it to your lapel?”  
“Go ahead,” said Graham with a smile and the hostess pinned the button to the lapel of his blazer.  
“We’re not quite yet starting, so feel free to mingle or get a drink at the bar.”  
Her perfectly manicured hand pointed towards the bar and Graham stepped away with a quiet “thanks”.  
Ordered a gin tonic and stayed by the bar to get a taste for the room.  
To his surprise it was pretty evenly split between men and women and he pulled his phone out to get some more information from the group chat.

\-- Is this a straight thing?  
HTD: yeh, bad?  
JWF: we thought that would be a bit easier on u  
JWF: cause of your last relationship :(  
\-- Charles, is that you on James’ phone?  
JWF: no ;(  
HTD: give JW his phone back Charles  
JWF: he’s asleep  
FITZ: well in that case go right ahead...  
JWF: >:)  
\-- Anyway. Straight thing. okay.  
HTD: did you wear the pride button down?  
FITZ: DUNDYYYYYY  
\-- No.  
HTD: mm, well, have fun  
FITZ: good luck!!!  
JWF: GET LAID :*  
\-- thanks, charles

Graham pocketed his phone again and sipped his drink.  
Stiff. Splendid.  
Surveying the shelves full of booze behind the bar Graham couldn't help but notice the quiet bubble three stools down.  
There was a man sitting there, back to the room, nursing a pint. He looked about as happy to be here as Graham felt, and about as sociable as someone attending a funeral.  
It made Graham smile, inexplicably.  
The hostess rang a ship’s bell with about as much care as a bulldozer and everybody frowned through her first sentence, ears ringing.  
“..if everyone would like to take their assigned seat then, and we’ll begin! When I ring the bell, the people with an even number move up a table! Have fun getting to know each other!”

Graham turned from the bar into the room and found the little place card with the swirly 17 on it.  
The guy with the pint was the 15 and took the table next to Graham with a brisk “Hello”.  
Graham smiled, took his seat and extended his hand for a proper hello.  
“Graham Gore,” he said.  
The pint guy blinked at Graham’s hand and laughed nervously.  
“You’re supposed to say hello to the ladies.”  
“No ladies yet, might as well say hello to you.”  
“John Morfin,” said pint guy and shook Graham’s hand with a grin. His grip was warm and firm and his eyes a delightful grey.  
“Nice to meet you and good luck with the ladies.”  
John Morfin laughed his nervous laugh again and they turned to the women approaching their tables.

“Hi, I’m Sabrina,” said the one with the yellow dress that took the chair across from Graham. Her brown hair had been curled and pulled back into a ponytail and her smile was pleasant.  
Graham looked at John Morfin out of the corner of his eye and privately thought that he liked his smile better.  
“Graham, hi.”

And from there it was a blur of pretty women dressed in all colours of the rainbow with all kinds of hobbies and the most amazing jobs Graham had ever heard about.  
Not that he could remember a single one of them, as the break came around, but he was – to his own surprise – having fun.  
Unlike John Morfin it seemed.  
The man looked positively miserable, shuffling to the bar for another pint or two, probably.  
Graham followed him with a little frown and leaned against the faux-wood countertop next to him.  
“How are you holding up? Already found the woman of your dreams?”  
John Morfin groaned and took a huge drink from his fresh pint.  
“This is hell,” he said afterwards and took another drink, foam thick in his beard.

Graham motioned one of the barkeepers for a pint too and then clinked his glass to Morfin’s.  
“Sorry about that, mate. Wanna grab a pint together after all this is over? Talk it out?”  
Morfin looked at him, and it was maybe the most heartbreaking look of utter surprise that Graham had ever been the recipient of.  
As if no one had ever invited John Morfin out for a pint before in his life.  
“Would that be alright?”, he asked again, a gentle hand on Morfin’s shoulder. Which was broader than expected.  
“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”  
“Then it’s a date.”  
Morfin laughed and lifted his pint to Graham’s. “At least two sorry sods get out of here with a date then.”  
Graham laughed, knocking his shoulder against Morfin’s, chest pleasantly warm.

The bell called them to the second round of blending all sorts of interesting women together in ten minutes for each, like a particularly tasteless smoothie.  
Okay that was a bad mental image. Graham shuddered.  
“Which misanthropic arse invented speed dating? I’d like to meet him personally and ask a few pointed questions.”  
“So sure it’s a man?”  
“Oh yeah, no woman truly believes you can get to know someone in ten minutes, or else bar-side proposals after a night of drinks would be the norm.”  
Morfin laughed again, a pleasant, slightly raspy laugh, that made Graham smile at him, cheeks warm.  
“Is it alright if I say John?”, he asked as they sat down, two ladies already waiting at their respective tables, practically foaming at the mouth.  
“Please do. Graham, right?”  
“Yeah, John!”  
They grinned at each other and then turned towards their new ten minutes.  
Graham swallowed a sigh and fought not to glance at his wristwatch.  
He managed the first half, he’d manage the second half too.

John and Graham fled the Lobster bar as soon as they could, not even sticking around to see if any of the women there wanted their numbers or e-mails or birth signs.  
Graham shrugged into his blazer and John forced his arms into the sleeves of an old, worn jean jacket.  
“Nice jacket,” commented Graham, eyeing the softened line of the shoulders, the slightly frayed hem. “I never managed to keep wearing one jean jacket long enough to really grow into it.”  
John smiled at him sideways, hands in his pockets and heels of his boots dragging a bit on the wet pavement.  
“Been wearing this one since I was nineteen and had decided I was done growing.”  
“That’s so cool! I gained a lot of muscle weight at twenty, because I started seriously rowing in college, so I had to give almost all of my clothes away. I could have burst straight through the seams.”  
John laughed and grabbed at Graham’s biceps, squeezing it firmly.  
“Where’s all that muscle now?”  
Graham grinned, ears hot and elbowed John so that they both stumbled a bit.  
“Get off it, I’m not twenty anymore and not actively rowing either! I’m not stick-limbed!”  
“Never said you were. Sore point?” John grinned at him, sideways again, grey eyes wrinkled very handsomely.  
Graham sighed and shrugged with a little chuckle. “A bit, I must confess. Pub?”  
They slowed under the hanging sign of the Silver Swan Pub and peered through the foggy windows.  
It was full, but not unbearably packed, and the bar was just busy enough to convince them both of the quality of the advertised house brew.  
“Looks good, let’s turn in.”

John held the door for Graham and Graham pushed a chair out for John in return.  
They had the luck to find a little table tucked away between the door to the loo and an umbrella stand.  
“House brew?”  
“Yeah, full pint please. Thanks.”  
Graham smiled, left his blazer draped over the back of the chair across from John and got them two large pints of the house brew.  
A dark, strong ale, that made Graham’s mouth water just carrying the pints over.  
The foam was perfect too.  
“Oh, looks good!”, called John, standing up and relieving Graham of one of the pints.  
They clinked glasses and drank for a quiet moment.  
It tasted even better than it looked.  
A vaguely familiar song played over the din, but Graham couldn’t make out what it was.  
Something from the charts, maybe.

“So, Graham,” said John with a grin, wiping foam from his beard, “What do you work as?”  
Graham laughed and leaned forward on his elbows, batting his lashes at John and adopting a horrible falsetto.  
“Well, you know, I work as a content manager for a little editorial, but it’s nothing interesting, really! What do you work as, John?”  
John grinned and knocked his foot against Graham’s.  
“I work in a little B&B. It’s all very familial.”  
“Wow, that honestly sounds so nice. I always love those little family-style B&B’s. Much nicer to stay at than any big hotel.”  
“Thanks,” said John quietly into his beer, cheeks red. “It’s nothing big or fancy.”  
“Do you like it?”  
John looked up from the table and Graham lifted his eyebrows encouragingly, taking a large sip from his beer.  
“I do. Favourite job I’ve worked.”  
“Then that’s all that matters, John, in my opinion at least.”  
“Thanks, honestly. I left a corporate job for it.”  
“Cheers, that’s the best anyone can do in this economy. Jump ship before it all sinks. After college I worked corporate too, and I’m not lying when I say it almost killed me.”  
“I’ll drink to that.”  
They solemnly clinked their glasses and sat silently for a moment.

Then Graham cleared his throat and scooted forward on his chair, John leaning back a bit in surprise.  
“So! What on earth made you join the hell of speed dating tonight?”  
“Not quite sure, I think I was drunk when I signed up for it and then too much of a chicken to back out again. You?”  
“My friends forced me, because my last partner cheated on me and I’ve been out of the dating loop since then.”  
“Oh, sorry about that.”  
“No, it’s fine, really!” Graham laughed, wiping condensation from his pint. “It’s in the past now.”  
“It’s still shitty. Cheating is so low.” John wiped foam from his beard again and jolted, when two laughing girls tumbled out of the door to the loo.  
Their lipstick was smudged on each other’s cheeks and Graham smiled softly into his pint.  
“She did apologize, and they are happy together now. I’m not angry anymore.”  
John made an unconvinced noise and cleared his throat, standing up.  
“Another pint?”  
“Sure. Thanks.”  
John nodded and weaved through the throng with the ease borne of long practise.  
A regular pub goer then, or he’d been a waiter maybe.

Graham told himself he wasn’t looking at the man’s arse as he walked away, and then realized he was kidding no one. Not even himself.  
John Morfin was incredibly attractive, with his soft grey eyes and his scruffy beard and the low, warm voice.  
And, God, his hands. Big and square and warm and Graham could still almost feel the shape of it on his arm.  
And those tight jeans were doing him a lot of favours too.  
“Here’s your pint. Gathering wool?”  
“Yeah, sorry,” Graham smiled up at John and took the pint from him, a bit of beer sloshing over the rim.  
“No, it’s alright, I do that all the time.” John sat down, before continuing: “You said your friends signed you up for tonight. Do they often do stuff like that?”  
“Heh, yes, the rascals. Hold on, I’ll show you a picture of the lot.”  
Graham dug his phone from his pocket and opened the galllery, pulling up a picture from a few weeks ago, taken by JW’s poolside.

“Here. Tall one with the grey hair is Henry, next to him is James, his best mate since school and then there’s James Walter with the mustache. We call James Jas, and James Walter is James or JW. Henry goes by Dundy, mostly. And then there’s me. And the little guy with the sour face is JW’s boyfriend.”  
John leaned forward, squinting slightly at Graham’s screen, a loose smile hanging around his mouth.  
“They look nice. Swimming pool?”  
“JW’s. I’m afraid I rather run with a posh crowd.”  
“I’m not judging, just curious.” John sat back again and smiled easily at Graham, his pint halfway to his mouth. “How did you lot come to get to know each other?”  
“Dundy and Jas met at school, JW and Dundy worked together right after college and Jas and I dated for two weeks and decided we were better off as friends. Things kind of stuck around, then. But don't ask me how JW and Charles came to be, I am not entirely sure I want to know the full story.”

John laughed, pushing his empty pint to the edge of the table, starting on his second. “I had no idea that worked; staying friends with people you used to date.”  
“It was a bit weird in the beginning, I have to agree, but after a year or so we had it figured out. And Jas is married now, happily, so yeah. I couldn’t be happier for him.”  
“That’s nice. Do they have kids?”  
Graham shook his head, grinning. “Nah, they have a dog. And a good friend they treat almost like their son. Even though the guy isn’t much younger than Jas, it’s damn funny to watch.”  
John laughed and sipped his beer. “Sounds nice.”  
“I’m always a bit jealous, I must confess. I’d love a steady relationship. Mind, it needn’t be marriage or anything like that. Just someone who sticks around and who doesn’t mind my cold feet under the duvet.”  
“I always run hot. Wouldn’t mind a pair of cold feet.”  
Graham almost choked on a sip of beer and masked it badly with a laugh.  
Was John flirting with him?  
Or was he just joking?  
Graham was so dastardly out of practice that he couldn’t tell the difference.

“So no cozy woodstove cuddling sessions for you?”  
“Didn’t say that. I just wouldn’t wear a sweater.”  
“Hell, John,” croaked Graham and took a large gulp of his beer.  
He immediately imagined John Morfin shirtless, in a pair of soft pants, carrying maybe two mugs of tea or mulled wine or spiked cocoa over to a crackling woodstove, complete with fur rug in front of it and Graham wrapped up in a warm quilt, socked feet stuck out towards the fire and hands reaching for mug and John in equal parts.  
Graham cleared his throat, sweat rolling down the back of his neck.  
He was hurtling towards something here that he wasn’t quite sure he was ready for.  
John looked at him, chin cradled in one hand, the other idly moving his pint on the cardboard coaster. He was smiling.  
“You good, mate?”  
“Super,” managed Graham, sweat drenching the back of his shirt, mind stuck in a loop of imagined shirtless John Morfin, chest just the right mix of muscle and soft padding.  
A drunk guy collided with their table, slurring an apology before managing the door to the loos.  
Graham wiped a bit of spilled beer from his hand, secretly glad for being shaken from his thoguhts, and John shook his head with mild amusement.

“It’s getting a bit full. Wanna drink up and walk a bit?”  
“Sure, maybe we can grab a bite to eat somewhere? I’m craving chips.”  
John hummed, swallowed and pointed out the window. “There’s a chippy not far from here that I know. Really nice and crispy chips.”  
“Vinegar?”  
“To die for.”  
Graham grinned, chugged the rest of his pint and stood, picking his blazer up.  
John followed suit, bringing the empty glasses up to the bar, Graham lighting a fag out on the street.  
“Can I bum one?”  
Wordlessly Graham offered the cigarette case and John took one out, letting Graham light it for him under the street lamp.  
“Thank you,” mumbled John around the cigarette sticking to his lower lip and Graham nodded warmly. They set off down the street, John leading the way at the next crossroads.  
Graham watched him smoke from the corner of his eye, thinking quietly that for being such a nasty habit, smoking was unfairly handsome.  
He tapped ash from his cigarette and dropped it into the next gutter.  
“Tried to quit and then my relationship went down the drain.”  
“Quit three times already and always started again. I think some things are just meant to stick around. But boy am I glad you can’t smoke in pubs anymore, that was so bloody vile.”  
Graham laughed and fingered the edge of his phone in his pocket. “It always was like walking straight into your own personal witch-burning.”  
John gently knocked shoulders with Graham and they turned a corner to the glow of the chippy’s blinking neon sign.

Ten minutes later they devoured their chips with vigour, standing outside at one of the rickety tables, discussing the intricacies of the rugby league.  
Graham then led them on a wild goose chase after a pub he was so sure Dundy had said was around here somewhere and had the best home-made peanut crackers he’d ever had.  
They ended up in a little park, feet tired and hunt for that particular pub unsuccessful.  
John laughing himself silly over something Graham had already forgotten.  
He didn’t care much, just as long as John kept laughing.  
Church bells rang somewhere in the distance and they both counted the rings aloud.  
“Three,” said John with wide eyes, laughing again.  
Graham checked his wristwatch, shaking it out of his sleeve and whistling loudly.  
“Good god, it really is three in the morning! Where did the night go?”  
“Time flies when you’re having wine.”  
“We didn’t have any wine, though, or did we?”  
“Not that I remember, but who knows at this point?”

John dropped on a bench by the path, stretching his legs.  
Graham sat down next to him heavily, elbows on his knees.  
John put a hand between his shoulder blades and sighed. Graham hoped his heart didn’t hammer so badly that John felt it.  
“Tired?”, John asked softly and Graham nodded, exhaustion a sudden lead weight on his neck.  
“Yeah, it was a long day.”  
“We should head home, then, I got work in a few hours either way.”  
“Jesus fuck, John! You should have said something sooner!”  
John laughed, hand rubbing warmly over Graham’s spine.  
“It’s fine, I’ll manage. It’s only half a day on Saturdays. I’ll just take a nap when I come home from work.”  
“Jesus.”  
Graham shook his head and peeled himself off the bench, pulling John up with him.  
“Let’s get you home then. Cab?”  
“I’ve no idea where the next tube station is, so I think that would be best.”  
“Grand, let’s find a street sign.”

The sunday a week after the speed dating night Graham got a text from John – the first since they’d swapped numbers through the open window of a cab – asking him out for a drink.  
He readily agreed, abandoning his plans for a sweatpants kind of night on the couch, and got dressed.  
Graham took a bus down to the Silver Swan and claimed the little table by the loo again, dropping his jacket over the other chair and scrolled through his phone, waiting for John.  
Who came up so quietly that Graham took no notice of him until he said “Hey there, Graham” and subsequently made Graham drop his phone on the table.  
“Hi John!” Graham stood and shook John’s hand, indicating the other chair for him, heart hammering.  
“Sorry, did I make you wait long?”  
“No, don’t worry. Pint?”  
“I’ll go, thanks.”  
John grinned, one hand on Graham’s shoulder, squeezing it warmly. He darted off to the bar again and came back with two pints a moment later.

“It’s busy tonight, isn’t it?”  
“Yeah, I had to wait until the last couple left before I could claim the table.”  
John laughed and handed Graham his pint, taking his seat.  
He was wearing his jean jacket again, the t-shirt underneath tight over his chest and Graham took a long drink from his pint to stop himself from staring.  
“Had a good week?”  
“A bit slow work-wise, but I’m not complaining. You?”  
“It’s the off-season, so we only have a few people staying. Most for a night, just passing through.”  
“So, good?”

John smiled and nodded, putting his hand in the middle of the table, fingers loosely curled under his palm.  
Graham contemplated the move (classic, old school, not too forward) and smiled into the foam of his pint.  
He set his beer down a bit closer to the middle of the table, the back of his hand brushing the side of John’s.  
It was warm.  
John’s cheeks coloured faintly, his adam’s apple bobbing through a swallow.

“Oh, I meant to ask if you’ve any plans for the long weekend next week, or if you’re working.”  
“Afraid I’m working. Light duty, since we’re not booked fully, but someone has to be there either way.”  
“Of course. When do you get off work?”  
“Six, probably, if nothing gets in the way. Why?”  
Graham grinned and tapped two fingers against John’s knuckles. “I thought we could go out for dinner, maybe? People will start thinking we’re flowering alcoholics, always meeting up for drinks and only drinks.”  
John laughed and clinked his glass to Graham’s, hand shaking faintly.  
“Sure, why not? Sounds good.”  
Graham smiled and pulled his hand away from John’s again, taking a sip of his beer.  
“Should I pick you up after work?”  
“No, it’s alright, I can meet you at the restaurant, just, you know, text me the address.”  
“Will do.”

They smiled at each other, cheeks red and then both turned to their beers.  
Graham’s neck was sweaty again and he was pretty sure he saw a bead of sweat creep along John’s hairline.  
That was a good sign, right? Some nervousness over a proposed dinner was good, right?  
He’d have to ask Dundy and the others later.  
Until they’d both finished their pints they sat quietly, watching the other people in the pub, feet knocking together under the table every now and then.  
It was pleasant.  
Graham got the next round and came back to John draping his jacket over Graham’s, both on the back of John’s chair now.

“Oh, sorry about that, I can take mine, if you want me to.”  
“No, it’s fine, Graham, don’t worry. I don’t mind.”  
Graham put down the pints and smiled, thanking John quietly.  
“Thanks for the pint.”  
“My pleasure, John, my pleasure.”  
For a moment they were quiet again, Graham trying to subtly stare at John’s arms.  
The t-shirt wasn’t only tight over his chest.  
John lifted a brow after a moment and Graham thought that maybe he hadn’t been subtle at all.  
So he flexed his own arm and pointed at John.  
“Nice guns, Hulk, what kind of work-out do you do?”  
John laughed and Graham grinned, throat tight and mouth dry.  
John was extremely handsome, probably even more so than Graham recalled from last week.  
Which should be impossible, the amount of time he had spent thinking of the man truly alarming.

“Just the gym twice a week and then work, you know. Nothing crazy, but I know I’ve reached a certain age where a man has to make sure he doesn’t get too flabby, and simply being careful with what I eat is not enough.”  
“Yeah,” croaked Graham and managed a shaky smile, eyes glued to the subtle veins on John’s forearms, the soft hair.  
The imagined form of shirtless John Morfin might just be about accurate and it made Graham feel incredibly lucky and like a pervert at the same time.  
“Maybe, if you wanted to, Graham, we could go to the gym together some time?”  
Fuck, thought Graham with feeling and nodded.  
“Sounds like fun! I can show you my old tricks on the rowing machine.”  
“Please do,” laughed John and knocked his ankle against Graham’s. Their hands brushed again on the tabletop.

It was nice.  
To just sit here, drinks in hand, and talk about nothing in particular.  
There was no pressure for Graham to say or do a certain thing. John didn’t expect anything from him but a nice rapport and an equal share in the drinks.  
And, by God, it was nice.  
Even when drunk people kept bumping into their table right by the loos and then mumbling their drunken apologies.  
“Next one’s gonna say ‘Sorry, Mates’ and burp, I swear.”  
John laughed, stretching his arms wide over his head, the t-shirt pulling tight over his chest.  
Graham swallowed heavily.  
“If he does, I’m buying the next round.”  
“Alright, I’ll have a G&T then.”  
“Oh, sod off, Graham! It’s been pints all this time and now you suddenly want gin?”  
“Only when you’re buying, John,” laughed Graham, gently knocking his shoe against John’s ankle.  
John scoffed, eyes warm and took another sip from his beer, holding the pint loosely between his palms afterwards.  
Loosely enough so that Graham could conceivably sneak his hands between John’s palms and the glass.  
If he wanted to.

The table shook as a man with a ginger beard down to his round belly bumped into their table, burping loudly.  
“Sorry, Mates,” he said, knocked on the tabletop twice and wrestled the door to the loo into submission.  
John dropped his head on his arms and groaned.  
Graham laughed. Cooed at John and gave his head a little pat. John’s hair was frizzy, a bit tangled from the day.  
“Aww, poor John. Go on, get me my gin and tonic, buddy.”  
John glared at Graham, face half hidden by his arms.  
“Fuck off,” he said and Graham laughed again, smoothing his hand from the back of John’s head to his neck. It was warm, the skin a bit sweaty.  
“You don’t actually have to buy me a G&T. A pint is fine, John, don’t worry.”  
He scritched at John’s hair a bit, tangling his fingers absentmindedly into it.  
John made a soft sound, tilting his head, so that Graham had better access. His shoulders rose and fell with his deep, slow breathing.  
“Don’t fall asleep on me, mate.”  
“‘m not gonna,” slurred John into his forearm and Graham chuckled, dragging his chair around the table to sit next to John.

“Tired?”  
“Knackered.”  
“Not knickered?”  
“Nah, forgot me knickers at home, sir.”  
“Naughty.”  
John chuckled and peeled himself off the sticky table. Stretched again, his arm landing firmly on the back of Graham’s chair.  
“Subtle.”  
“What?”  
Graham nudged John’s arm with his shoulder and John flushed up to his hairline.  
“Sorry ‘bout that, didn’t mean anything by it.”  
Shame, thought Graham and waved John’s apology down.  
“Nah, all good, just teasing you. Wanna head out?”  
John grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and covered a yawn with the back of his hand.  
“And your G&T?”  
“You can get it for me next time, it’s fine. Come on.”  
John nodded, yawned again and struggled into his jacket. Finished his pint standing, the jacket crooked on his shoulders.  
Graham adjusted it gently.  
Steered John towards the door and out into the night.

Into the rain.  
“Huh. Got an umbrella?”  
John patted down his pockets and pulled an apologetic grimace.  
“Sorry, left it with my knickers.”  
Ah, hell yeah.  
Graham wouldn’t mind taking John Morfin home and really get into that knickers-business.  
He had it bad for the man.  
“Cab?”  
“Let’s see if we can find one,” said Graham and held his hand out for John to take. He had no idea why.  
John took it with a grin, collar flipped up around his ears.  
Graham grinned so wide his cheeks hurt and pulled John down the street on the hunt for a cab.

It took them twenty minutes to find one and they stumbled into it together, giggling and dripping all over the interior.  
Graham shouted his address at the driver over the din of the rain and the harsh take off pushed them both into the seats.  
They were still holding hands.  
John’s hand was wonderfully warm, even after the rain.  
The driver subtly turned up the music and John laughed into the sodden shoulder of Graham’s jacket.  
“I don’t think he likes us,” he stage whispered, breath hot against Graham’s face.  
Graham put his arm around John’s shoulders, resting his cheek on his head for a moment.  
“Yeah, I don’t think he does.”  
John dozed off for the rest of the cab ride, Graham watching the wet city flit past them outside.  
Turning into Graham’s street the cab slowed, finally coming to a stop by the building.  
Graham shook John awake and paid the cab fare, pulling John out on the street.  
The rain had turned into a drizzle, puddles all over the place.

“Come up and get dry?” Graham asked John’s boots.  
John’s boots came closer and Graham looked up at John’s face.  
“I’d love that.”  
“Grand.”  
Graham turned to the door, juggled his keys and whistled a jaunty tune.  
John followed in his footsteps, up the stairs, down the hallway, up some more stairs and then into the flat.  
“Just leave your shoes by the door, and hang the jacket, mate.”  
With a little affirmative mumble John complied and Graham puttered into the kitchen, putting the kettle on, happy as a fish in water.  
“Nice flat.”  
“Oof, sorry, it’s not tidy at all. Grab a seat.”  
“Towel first? Kinda dripping on the hardwood here.”

Graham laughed and tasked John with watching the kettle while he darted into the bathroom for his fluffiest towels.  
“Want some dry clothes? I can throw yours in the dryer, John!”  
“Nice, ta mate!”  
“Just give me a second,” shouted Graham, the kettle in the kitchen cutting him short.  
John poured the water and Graham undressed, towelling himself dry.  
He pulled his pj’s on and got something for John to wear from the unfolded laundry on top of the dryer, stacking the towels on top.  
And almost dropped his bundle when he stepped back into the kitchen.

There was John, tea towel around his shoulders, leaning against Graham’s countertop, sipping tea from his batman mug.  
Looking absolutely at home, ankles crossed and smiling at Graham over the rim of the mug.  
“Poured you tea.”  
“Thanks.” Graham almost choked on his own tongue. “Got you clothes. And towels.”  
“I owe you one. Point me to the bathroom?”  
John crossed the kitchen, took the stuff from Graham, batman mug cradled against his chest.  
Graham pointed wordlessly down the hallway and John toasted him with the mug. Brushed past him, even though the hallway was wide enough to evade that.  
It felt like Graham’s brain was turning to mush.  
He turned around, just to watch John walk down his hallway and point cutely at the bathroom door.  
Graham nodded and John lifted his mug again, stepping into the bathroom.  
He had half a mind to follow him.

Tea.  
Now.  
Spoon of sugar, drop of cream, stirred twice, spoon licked and dropped in the sink.

Graham steeled himself, like he had seen his father do before important phone calls and drained half the tea in a long swallow.  
Burned his tongue.  
How the fuck had his dad always done that?  
“Graham,” called John down the hallway and then again: “Graham?”  
Graham poked his head out of the kitchen and was treated to the sight of shirtless John Morfin.  
There his brain went.  
“Mind if I take a shower? It’s been a long day.”  
“Erm,” said Graham intelligently and nodded, waving his hand at John like a mad man.  
John just grinned and winked at Graham, darting back into the bathroom.

He didn’t lock the door.  
Just closed it gently and Graham took a fortifying sip of tea.  
His tongue hurt.

John was naked in his bathroom and he was going to use Graham’s shower things. He was going to smell like Graham after his shower, only he wouldn’t, not exactly.  
Graham swallowed and poured his tea down the drain. Filled his mug with water and drank that instead.  
The faucet dripped and the water ran in the shower.  
Graham grinned into his mug, put it beside the spoon in the sink and hurried into his bedroom, throwing the window open.  
“Fresh sheets.”

He settled for a pale grey grown-up-looking set and stripped and dressed his bed in record time. Kicked a pair of old boxers under the bed to never see the light of day again and hunted down a couple of condoms and some lube.  
Opted for the subtle nightstand option. A bit less obvious than putting it in the middle of the bed and less embarrassing if nothing came to pass after all.  
Just because Graham’s dick was terribly enthusiastic, now that he’d seen the gorgeous bare chest of John Morfin, did not mean that they’d have sex.  
Or even make out, or kiss.  
He just wanted to be prepared, if push came to shove.  
No pressure.

Graham closed the window again, turned the light off in his bedroom and settled in the living room with a magazine and some music playing softly in the background.  
The creaking floorboards alerted him to John.  
“Thanks for the shower. I tossed my things in the dryer.”  
John leaned in the open doorway of the living room, still squeezing water from his hair with a towel.  
He looked striking in Graham’s clothes.  
Younger somehow, but maybe that was just the soft light and wet hair.  
“No trouble. Another cuppa?”  
“I’m good, thanks. Mind if I join you?”

Graham put the magazine down and waved John in with a smile. His palms were sweaty and his heart downright stampeding.  
John was barefoot, his steps measured on floor and rug alike. He sat down next to Graham on the sofa, elbow on the back of it, knee nudged against Graham’s thigh.  
“Water was good? Warm and all?”  
“God, yeah. Much more warm water than at my flat.”  
“I’m glad.” Graham grinned and then paddled back. “Not that your flat hasn’t enough warm water. Glad that you liked the shower.”  
John smiled and picked up Graham’s hand from where it kept the couch cushions in line.  
He squeezed it between his two palms and then put it on Graham's knee, still holding it.  
“I’m glad you brought me up here.”  
“Yeah, me too.”  
“I really like that picture you got up in the bathroom. That watercolour.”  
“Oh, that’s Australia. Went there for a vacation once, nearly lost my hand, but I painted so much there. It was very cool.”  
John laughed softly, disbelieving, and traced a thumb over the back of Graham’s hand.  
Over the old scar.

“You painted that? It’s gorgeous.”  
“Thanks, John. It’s just a little hobby, I’m not terribly good at it. Jas takes the crown with artistic talent in the group.”  
“Come off it, Gore, it’s perfect.”  
There was a little thrill that ran through Graham from head to toe at John’s words, spoken against the back of Graham’s hand.  
Then John kissed it.  
That odd spot between thumb and forefinger. His beard was shower-soft and his hair smelled almost like Graham’s.  
He kissed Graham’s hand again and again, his fingers pressing lightly into the soft underbelly of his wrist and Graham sighed. Put a hand on John’s shoulder and gently pulled him up.  
Their gazes locked and they both smiled.  
Slow, dawning things, that warmed them through and through.

Outside the world could burn or drown in the downpour of the century; they were unaware.

Together they leaned in, noses bumping, rubbing against each other, breath soft on their cheeks.  
John traced his hand up Graham’s arm to the sleeve of his t-shirt. Slipped under it.  
Graham cradled the back of John’s neck in his palm.  
The kiss was inevitable and at the same time a side show.

Mapping out the edges of John Morfin was more important. The most natural thing Graham had ever done with his hands.  
John’s mouth tasted a bit like tea and Graham smiled, hands tucked under the sweater, following the faint knobs of John’s spine to the back of his neck and down again.  
Meanwhile John kissed Graham’s stubbly cheeks, the edge of his jaw, down his neck to his collarbone.

“Wait, let me,” said Graham quietly into John’s wet hair and they moved apart, Graham pulling his t-shirt over his head.  
John made a soft noise in the back of his throat, hands rubbing up and down Graham’s arms.  
“You look beautiful.”  
“Thanks.”  
They kissed each other again.  
John pressed in closer now, his warm, strong hands on Graham’s back, his mouth soft and slick on Graham’s skin.  
Graham nibbled faintly on John’s earlobe and then kissed his shoulder through the sweatshirt.  
“Can I take you to bed?” he asked the faded green and John said “Yes” into his hair.

They untangled their legs, knocking the magazine off the coffee table and Graham just laughed. Pulled John in for another kiss.  
They bumped into the wall, Graham with his hands under John’s sweatshirt, John pulling on the overlong hair at the back of Graham’s head.  
“I need to get a haircut, I look like a cop from a 70s series. Only need to grow a handlebar now.”  
John laughed against Graham’s mouth and dislodged them from the wall.  
“And what does that make me?” He pointedly shook his hair out of his face. It fell very handsomely around his chin.  
Graham grinned wolfishly and buried both hands in it.  
“Fucking gorgeous, John Morfin. That’s what it makes you.”  
“Fuck,” said John softly, burying his face in Graham’s shoulder. Graham hugged him around the waist, smiling into his wet hair.

“Bed?”  
“Yes, please.”  
They laughed together, Graham finally getting them into his bedroom, the lights dimmed.  
The rug by the foot of the bed attached itself firmly to Graham’s foot and he stumbled hard into John, making him lose his balance too.  
Together they collapsed on the bed, Graham roaring with laughter, John breathlessly trying to laugh along. Graham’s elbow was firmly lodged between his ribs.

With effort they rolled apart, Graham kicking his legs in delight, John finally breathing again.  
He covered his face with his hands and they laughed and laughed and laughed.  
Graham pushed up on his elbows and looked at John, heart swelling to at least double its size.  
It was truly astonishing that his chest didn’t just break open, heart to big for the cradle of his ribs suddenly.  
He smiled so wide his cheeks ached and then gently pried John’s hands away from his face.  
Kissed the tears of joy from his ruddy cheeks, his beard.

Graham straddled John’s hips and licked into his mouth, slowly, steadily, not relenting.  
John opened under him, moaning into Graham’s mouth, tongue slowly lapping into Graham’s mouth, sliding wetly along Graham’s tongue.  
They shuddered, hands holding fast to each other.  
“Can I get you out of the sweater, John?”  
“It’s yours, you can do with it what you want, honest.”  
“Good.”  
Graham shoved his hands under the sweater, pushing it over John’s fucking chiselled chest, the perfect amount of salt and pepper chesthair and then over his head.  
John wriggled out of it the rest of the way and Graham trailed his hands idly back down to his hips.  
To the waistband of the sweatpants.  
His fingers shook faintly and John covered them with his own hands. Pulled Graham down for a kiss.  
“I’m nervous too.”

Graham laughed thickly, blinking away the sudden tears trying their best to ruin the mood.  
“Been some time, huh?”  
“Hell yeah, it was.”  
They laughed again, foreheads pressed together, fingers interlocked.  
Slowly they shifted until they sat facing each other, hands clasped loosely between them.  
They breathed the same air and Graham had the distinct feeling that the room was heating up with every second.  
His skin prickled delightfully, toes curling.  
“I’m going to kiss you again.”  
“Please,” said John and leaned in first, mouth caught in a soft smile that Graham wanted to commit to memory.  
Wanted to commit to paper.

Somewhere between Graham opening his mouth and John biting at his lips John ended up in Graham’s lap.  
Rutting vaguely against him.  
It felt good to have a man in his lap and be kissed by him.  
Graham floated on that high for a bit, letting his body react to the magical spell and pull of John’s fingers.  
“You’re good at this,” he said into the sweaty hollow of John’s throat and smiled, as John’s laugh vibrated against Graham’s lips.  
“Thanks, I’m just kind of vibing here.”  
“Oh god, he speaks teenager.”  
John laughed again and overbalanced so that Graham fell backwards into the pillows.  
“Not fluently, but I have a few young co-workers.”  
“Dundy plays Fortnite with thirteen year old boys and therefore is always hip on the newest lingo. Or something like that.”  
“He was the one with the grey hair, yes?”  
“He prefers the term silverfox, but yes.”

Graham snuggled up close to John, pressing his thigh between John’s legs.  
John’s eyes fluttered closed and he rubbed up against Graham’s thigh. His balls were hot and heavy on Graham’s skin and he licked into John’s mouth.  
“Wanna put on the condoms?”  
“Probably for the best,” panted John, eyes still closed. “Where do you have them?”  
“On the nightstand, let me-”  
Graham sat half up and fished two condoms from the nightstand, passing one foil packet off to John.  
“Nothing more romantic than getting dressed up together with a handsome guy.”  
“Oh yeah. Nothing quite as sexy as that.”  
They grinned and kissed each other quickly, before turning back to rolling the condoms over their cocks.

Graham dragged his lube slickened fingers over the inside of John’s bent knee and revelled in the little shiver that shook the hair John had tucked behind his ear loose.  
It fell most fetchingly over his eye and Graham pushed it back to kiss John’s brow.  
“God, I can’t wait for your hands on me, mate.”  
John laughed, a breathy thing, and walked his own slick fingers down Graham’s arm to his elbow, then up to his shoulder.  
He slid around the round of it and then trailed his fingers through the hair under Graham’s arm and down his side.  
Graham shivered, mouth falling open, eyelids drooping.  
He felt his cock pulse with blood.  
John said something against the skin of his clavicle and Graham only hummed vaguely, not having comprehended a single word of it.

For a moment nothing more happened, John just keeping his fingers in movement, Graham idly stroking the hair on his thighs, forever creeping closer and closer to the proud tilt of John’s cock.  
John’s hand closed around Graham’s cock first. It wasn’t a firm grip by definition, but it wasn’t loose either.  
Graham gasped, mouth wide in an open-mouthed smile and reached for John’s cock too.  
They dropped their foreheads together, breath mingling in loud pants and the occasional groan.  
John felt amazing in the palm of Graham’s hand.  
He didn’t have the brain power left to actively start thinking about how good John’s hand felt on his own cock, or he’d start steaming out his ears.

It didn’t take long for Graham to positively drool on John’s shoulder and grunt with every upwards drag of John’s hand.  
“You okay there? You sound a bit strained.”  
Graham grunted again, kissing sloppily over the pulse point in John’s neck.  
“Fine, sorry.”  
John breathed out against the top of Graham’s head and then kissed his sweaty temple.  
“I’m going to come fairly soon.”  
“Same, yeah.”  
John laughed and shifted against Graham, pulling him closer. Their legs stuck together with sweat and Graham pulled a face, chuckling against John’s skin.  
“Definitely need a shower after this.”  
“God, you needn’t say that twice. I’m sticky all over.”

Graham grunted, John twisting his wrist with the new angle, dragging the heel of his palm over the sensitive top of Graham’s cockhead.  
He pressed tight around the base, making John’s leg twitch hard, his cock pulsing in Graham’s palm.  
“Love that, Graham, God. Harder?”  
Graham grunted an affirmative and tightened his hold, John positively melting in his arms.  
He still kept his hand firmly around Graham’s cock, jerking him off with the languid twists that made Graham moan into John’s hair.  
It only took another twist of John’s hand and him softly saying Graham’s name into the hair above his ear for Graham to come.  
There wasn’t any urgency to it, the orgasm scooping him up gently and dropping him firmly in John’s arms.

“Oh wow, there you are, you’re good, Graham, just-”  
John gently held Graham against his chest, letting him shiver through the last vestiges of his orgasm, and then wrapped his hand around Graham’s loose grip on John’s cock.  
“Wow, John,” said Graham, skin prickling.  
John's hand was the warmest thing Graham had ever felt against his skin.

Now it was John’s turn to grunt and moan, mouth pressed tight to Graham’s shoulder.  
“Fuck,” they said at the same time and then John came too.  
He went tense against Graham, then limp and loose like a cooked noodle.  
He laughed thickly when Graham told him, kissing up the side of his neck and then over his cheek to his mouth.

“I think I love you, John Morfin.”  
John closed his eyes and wrapped Graham up in an embrace, kissing him sound and safe.  
“I think I love you too, Graham Gore.”

Graham laughed, kissed John again and mentally made a note to write a little thank you into the groupchat.  
Who would have guessed speed dating worked?


End file.
